Love Thine Enemy
by ReadYourHeartOut
Summary: The threat of the Apocalypse has passed, and things between Crowley and Aziraphale are changing. For the better. Included in this story: beef stew, snow, Aziraphale's wings, all in addition to an ongoing romance between supposed enemies. Rating to change.
1. Dance with the Devil

**A/N: So, I just finished this book, and I'm in love with it. Since the very first "my dear," Aziraphale and Crowley have been my favorite characters…and conveniently enough, they make an adorable couple. However, I don't go for "PWP," so this is me getting them together as realistically as possible (in my mind)…though by this point in the story, they're at least part-way there already. This chapter is rated T for deep kisses and indirect discussion of sex… Ahem, but it **_**is**_** just the first chapter. If Crowley can be patient, so can you. Read on, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 1: Dance with the Devil**

_Wash that man right out of my hair,_

_ I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair._

_ I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair._

"And send him on his way…" the angel sang under his breath. He was listening to the soundtrack of an old Broadway play, South Pacific, as he cooked. He was cooking because he'd gotten tired of his usual meal at the Ritz. When he'd voiced this sentiment, Crowley had challenged him to make something better. The verse was, "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God," but tempting his followers was an entirely different matter, and thus, Aziraphale had risen to the challenge. However, his skills in this area were very…underdeveloped, so instead of salmon and asparagus, their lunch would consist of an over-salted beef stew with rather misshapen dumplings.

_It doesn't look terrible_, he thought to himself as he peeked into his flat's small and rarely-used (that is, _never_ used until that particular day) oven. And truly, it _wasn't_ terrible; in fact, he was quite proud of himself for producing something marginally edible with no supernatural help.

"I'm sure he'll at least appreciate the effort I've put in," he muttered, though he wasn't really sure at all. At that moment, he hear the soft click of his door opening, locks easily undone by a hand which ignored their existence. "Hmph. Speak of the devil…" Crowley stepped inside without waiting for an invitation as Nellie Forbush sang, "I'm in love with a wonderful guy."

"Hi," he said, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward. "I know I'm a little early."

"You could at least _pretend_ to respect my privacy," the angel responded with a glance in his direction. "Or do you normally enter other people's homes without knocking?" Crowley's smirk didn't falter.

"Want me to go back out and try again?" Aziraphale shook his head dismissively, and his guest wandered inside, observing the very modest accommodations. "You know, you _did_ invite me over. I figured that was permission enough. …Still listening to this CD, are you?"

"It was a gift, if you recall," the angel answered as he removed his…creation from the oven and set it aside to cool. "I've nearly memorized them all."

"Really." This word was more of a placeholder than an actual question. Something to fill the space between them while he made his way across the room behind Aziraphale. The next song began while the angel removed his oven mitts. It was one of his favorites, if he'd been forced to choose. "So sing."

"I'd rather not," he mumbled bashfully. "And I'm sure you'd prefer it if I didn't, as well." He laughed at that, but as he turned to face his demon (as it were), he found him much closer than expected. Still with that wicked, serpentine curve on his lips, he took another step forward. Aziraphale was forced back against the counter, and the words, "lead us not into temptation" passed through his mind.

_Angel and lover,_

_ Heaven and Earth,_

_ Are you to me…_

Crowley was just enough taller than he was that he had to lean down slightly to hiss in his ear. The angel cleared his throat, tried to ignore the increase of his heart rate. Then his demonic guest (if he could so be called) caught his lips, and he stiffened.

_And when your youth_

_ And joy invade my arms_

_ And fill my heart_

_ As now they do…_

Only moments after it began, the kiss was ended.

"Really, my dear, you've only just arrived," the angel said, flustered. He pushed at Crowley's arms and continued, "Our food will get cold." It wasn't that he disliked the act of kissing (or _being_ kissed, which was probably more accurate). In fact, the first time it had happened, he'd been surprised at how…guiltless he'd felt. There had been no discussion of it at the time, but Crowley's attitude toward him seemed to have changed slightly. For the better, he felt. Still, the entire area of physical affection made him a bit uneasy, so he'd effectively restricted it to very short, simple kisses and the occasional embrace.

"Here," he said as he placed a steaming bowl at either end of the table. "I know it isn't perfect, but this _is_ my first attempt." The demon eyed his meal dubiously as he sat down. But he had, in a way, provoked this, so he had no choice but to suffer the consequences. So he tried a bite…and suppressed a grimace. "Is it that bad?" The angel laughed weakly and tasted it himself. "Er. I'll keep working on it, then, shall I?" Crowley didn't answer; he was dutifully emptying his bowl, perhaps eating quickly so he wouldn't have to taste it. Once he'd finished, he spoke.

"It was fine," he said, though his voice strained slightly. "Thanks." A few moments of silence passed in which Aziraphale appreciated his friend's uncharacteristic courtesy. Then, "…could I get some water?"

"Oh, of course!" He hastily filled a glass and brought it back, watching the demon drain every last drop.

"Haah. Thanks," he repeated. His host wore a pleased smile.

"It's always nice to see you care for someone other than yourself." Crowley looked unamused, but not actually irritated.

"Yes, well, keep it a secret, will you? I do have a reputation."

"Your secret's safe with me, dear boy," Aziraphale replied, taking their dishes (his still nearly full) back to the kitchen. "Well, that took less time than expected. I suppose you have plenty of wicked plans to be running off to now?"

"Nope," Crowley answered idly as he leaned back in his chair, never falling back. "Not today, anyway. What about you?"

"Well…there is a stack of books downstairs that I had hoped to get to this afternoon," he said thoughtfully as he rinsed out their bowls. He felt a pang of guilt at throwing out so much food, but he had the feeling that even the neediest child might turn his nose up at his cooking.

"Mm-hm. Don't suppose that could wait."

"Until…?"

"Until I'm ready to leave."

"Hm. And when might that be?" Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder to find his friend gazing back at him over the top of his sunglasses, yellow eyes unblinking.

"Who knows?" the demon said with a shrug. He gestured to the CD player, and the music changed to a somber tune on piano and violin. As he got to his feet, he pushed his shades back up. "So…?" Aziraphale swallowed hard and turned away, trying to focus on drying the dishes and putting them away.

"So," he responded. "What?" Crowley let out a sigh and moved closer, this time pinning Aziraphale's front against the edge of the counter, his hands resting on either side of him to form a sort of cage.

"You know I'm bad at this sort of thing," he said quietly, with a slight hiss between "this" and "sort."

"I don't know what you mean." _Lying lips are abomination to the Lord…_

"I think you do. Stop making things more difficult than they have to be." One of his hands found the angel's, and he pulled, forcing Aziraphale to face him. His other arm snaked around his friend's midsection and tightened, pulling him closer still. "You can dance, right?"

"I…learned the gavotte once," the angel responded apprehensively, somewhat out of his element. "But that was decades ago; I can't—"

"Sure you can. I'll lead." So he did, but in a way Aziraphale was entirely unaccustomed to. Slow and close, they moved, one step forward, two steps back, with the angel nervously stumbling now and then Still, once they'd learned the rhythm and started to match each other's movements, things grew easier and smoother for both partners. As he followed Crowley's lead, he wondered vaguely, didn't the mortals have a saying about dancing with the devil? Somehow, he imagined most didn't get the opportunity.

"I do hope you plan to put my music right before you leave," he scolded.

"Couldn't you just as easily do it yourself?"

"That isn't the point; it's the principle of the matter." Even though he couldn't see them, he knew Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, angel; I'll fix your music," he promised.

"…why are we dancing?" The demon's sunglasses glinted with light, and he answered honestly.

"Because I don't feel like leaving yet. And I get the feeling that hearing what's _really_ on my mind would ruffle your feathers beyond repair." Aziraphale stopped the dance and looked up.

"And what is that, pray tell?" Aware that was on dangerous ground here, Crowley chose his words carefully. He then decided not to use them, instead responding with a firm kiss. The angel tensed, but Crowley was intent on getting his point across this time. Before the angel had time to protest, he found himself wrapped in an embrace stronger than the ones previous. The kiss that accompanied it was different as well; it was deep and…not warm so much as _hot_. Not soft, either. An entirely new experience for both parties. Aziraphale's shocked eyes drifted closed, and the slightest sound of surprise or (Heaven forbid) pleasure was muffled between their lips. For several moments, the angel was trapped, hands curled into helpless fists at his sides. As much as he wanted to react, he stayed frozen, too stunned to do anything. Their music had stopped. A heavy silence filled the room, stifling and pressing down until neither party could stand it any longer, and the contact was broken. However, they remained where they were, not a word, not a breath between them. Crowley wished he had removed his sunglasses beforehand; maybe if he had, his host wouldn't be avoiding his eyes so.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, wasn't sure exactly what to think. His mind felt clouded, hazy, and for all his efforts, he couldn't seem to focus. What could he do? His options had been quite effectively limited. He couldn't look up for fear that Crowley would see the bright blush creeping into his cheeks. As they were in such close quarters, he noticed now the beat of his friend's heart against his own chest. The rhythm he felt was as frantic and nervous as his own, which comforted him a bit; at least he wasn't alone in those feelings. The silence was positively deafening…but what was there to say? After a few more minutes, the demon spoke.

"…that was why we were dancing," he said plainly, taking a step back and smoothing the wrinkles from his suit. And he was right; had Aziraphale's wings been out at the time, his feathers would have been quite ruffled indeed. When he didn't respond after several moments, Crowley wondered if he might have overdone it. Then, as though waking from a trance, Aziraphale jerked away and strode over to sit on the couch, head in his hands.

"Maybe you should go," he said quietly. His mind, usually the safest place to be, was such a frenzied mess that he could barely think straight. Considering his age, it was _very_ rare that he encountered something he wasn't used to, yet here he was, and he hardly knew how to cope. And what was Crowley thinking, putting him through this all of a sudden! What did he— "What do you want?" He spoke without looking up.

"Whatever you want to give me," the demon answered simply, relieved that he was still being spoken to. Aziraphale seemed agitated, a rare state for him.

"What does that mean?" he grumbled.

"Don't play dumb, angel. You _know_ what I want." As he spoke, Crowley took a seat on the couch as well, watching the angel thoughtfully. "What I'm actually going to get just depends on you." Aziraphale was quiet. Of course, he could guess what his "friend" was after, but he could hardly believe it. Six thousand years, and this had never come up before. It was a general rule that angels were sexless, both in form and in practice, so for Crowley to ask this…

"Why?"

"Tch. Does it matter?" Naturally, the demon was loath to talk about the real _reason_ behind his desire, the reason he wouldn't just ignore it or spend it elsewhere.

"Yes. Your answer could help your cause." A brief moment of silence passed. "It's important."

"Nph." He leaned back in the couch, turned away, crossed one leg over the other, trying _so_ hard to be casual. It was horribly apparent, however, that he was failing. "Well…who else? I sure as Hell wouldn't do it with another demon. Sure, you work for the other side and all, but I think of us as…" He trailed off awkwardly; he really was bad at this

"…friends?" the angel suggested helpfully. They were both doing an exemplary job of avoiding one another's eyes.

"Right. That."

"And that's the sort of thing you'd do with a friend?"

"…point taken. So maybe not exactly friends in the traditional sense. Maybe after a couple of millennia and the whole Apocalypse ordeal… It's different." More silence. The music came back to fill it, saxophones and pianos singing softly through the still air. "It's the lust thing, right? That's why you hesitate?"

"Technically," Aziraphale began hesitantly. "By definition, lust simply means putting the desire for worldly or…sensual things above Him."

"Well, that's not exactly what I'm asking for, is it?" Now, he turned, yellow eyes peering over his sunglasses once more. The angel wasn't budging. He was thinking furiously, his mind racing and keeping him from looking up. Something told him, _That isn't good enough. Simply having no reason not to is _not_ a good reason to do something._ So what reason did he have? This was a decision that required more time than Crowley was giving him. This was something that required careful analysis of himself, as well as his relationship with a certain snakelike demon. That was what he needed most: time. Alone.

"We'll see," he said finally. Crowley let out a snort of laughter.

"That's diplomatic."

"What did you expect? I can't give a definitive answer at the moment." He smiled pleasantly. "In any case, not today." As he stood, his guest frowned.

"So you're kicking me out now?"

"Unless you'd like to stay and read along with me, yes." He had to admit, that thought didn't sound so bad.

"I'll pass." Still, he didn't stand up yet. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were closed. It was clear (to him, at least) that he hadn't made his point properly. So he had to try again before he left. "Look. It isn't easy for me to say it out loud. It's difficult enough saying it in my head… You're practically the only half-pleasant company I have. Doesn't it follow that I would think of you differently? Isn't that how things like this work?" He stopped there, unsure of what he meant by "things like this" and sure he was only digging himself deeper into a hole. Just as he was about to stand and awkwardly excuse himself, the angel's lips against his kept him seated. Aziraphale's kiss was not at all like his; it was far gentler, unsure to the point of being almost timid, but affectionate nevertheless.

"Next week," Aziraphale said as he straightened up, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. "We can go _out_. I'll buy you dinner to make up for this." He gestured to the kitchen. An accomplished grin spread across Crowley's face.

"Fine. Next week, then." With this, he left, waving a hand at the CD player as he went so that it returned to its previous showtunes. As he left, he was even smugly whistling along to "Younger Than Springtime." What could he say? It was catchy.


	2. Traditional Courtship

**A/N: Just so it's clear, Aziraphale is reading a book of etiquette at the beginning of this chapter; those aren't his thoughts in italics. I think my Aziraphale has blond hair and brown eyes... (I don't believe it's ever specified in the book. If I'm wrong, someone please let me know.)**

**Chapter 2: Traditional Courtship  
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_The conventional dinner-and-a-movie still makes sense for the first date; it gives just about the right amount of time for conversation and something to talk about after the movie._

It did seem a valid point. Six thousand years was quite a long time to know someone.

_A man should offer to see his date home, either by walking or driving her home._

And if he was honest with himself, it wasn't as though he could say there was anyone else who was the same sort of friend as Crowley.

_If you're simply not interested in the person you've met, be polite and considerate of his feelings._

But what sort of friend was Crowley, for that matter? It seemed things had changed for the two of them after the false Apocalypse…but what did that mean? The way he'd spoken, he'd made it seem like there was something behind his actions other than simple friendship. But he _was_ a demon; he would've been good at deception. Clearly, he was convincing enough to give even an angel pause to think.

_Try to put yourself in his shoes, imagining what it must feel like._

Aziraphale sighed and set his book down, too distracted to learn anything from it. It was the strangest thing; whereas usually, nothing could keep him from his reading, it seemed he could think of nothing but… He frowned and took a sip of his tea, blanching as he realized it had gotten cold. As he held the cup, it heated in his hands until it reached an acceptable temperature once more, and then he took another sip. It had been _days_, and though he'd been trying to keep himself occupied, it obviously wasn't working.

Crowley, bless him. The events of their last meeting played through the angel's head again and again, leaving him exhausted from examining them so thoroughly. One conclusion he'd come to was that yes, they were friends. He wouldn't have said so to his superiors, but it was true. Another was that, while they made him a bit nervous, he _did_ enjoy their kisses. Unfortunately, these were the only two things he'd been able to decide for sure.

For a while, he had toyed with the idea that Crowley could be in love with him, but he'd quickly dismissed that thought; for one, he didn't even know if it were possible for a demon to feel such an emotion, and even if it were, Crowley hadn't indicated any such thing. That made it far more difficult to consider his offer. As an angel, Aziraphale was loving by nature. But did that nature extend to Fallen Angels as well? And then, he wondered, how different was loving from _loving_?

It was very easy to get confused. For days and days, he sat in one spot, puzzling and puzzling and trying to sort things out with little success. Common sense (or perhaps tradition) said that he should reject the proposal without a second thought. But then, his entire lifestyle strayed from tradition. And if _that_ was the case, was his morality in question? No, that was ridiculous; as long as he'd spent on Earth, he was who he was. And the same could be said of Crowley.

Finally, Aziraphale stirred. That must be it: this wasn't a decision he could make on his own. He'd been wrong to send Crowley away; all his consideration had yielded no definite result because he wasn't properly educated on the situation, and the only way to change that was to spend time around the object of his current focus. If he was ever to reach a conclusion, he would need a counterpoint to his own thoughts: he needed Crowley.

"That settles it," he said aloud. "It will simply come down to his temptation against my virtue. I have to let him tempt me and…find out if I can resist." Yes, that was the only option. Glad to have finally made _some_ progress, the angel left his couch and stretched out, then checked his calendar, as he hadn't been keeping track of the days. It had been a week. What a coincidence. Or perhaps it was ineffable wisdom which had chosen to grant him an answer just in time. He disliked the idea that _He_ knew of the angel's plight, but he was well aware that nothing stayed hidden from Him for long.

Trying not to think of that, Aziraphale reminded himself of his, ahem, date that evening. He quickly showered, uncomfortable with being naked even when he was alone, and dressed in something he hoped was appropriate. Most of his clothing was a bit old-fashioned (for which Crowley constantly harangued him), but it would simply have to do. He then spent a fair amount of time pacing about his flat, wringing his hands and trying to guess how the night would go. He only hoped his friend would be patient with him… After he'd sufficiently worried himself silly, there was a knock at the door. Surprised, he went to answer it and found Crowley there with his usual smirk in his mouth.

"You knocked," the angel said with a smile. "So you _do_ listen."

"Occasionally," his friend replied. "Shall we?"

"Just a moment; I'll need my coat. Come in." As he stepped inside, Crowley's eyes observed the angel's clothes. He couldn't begin to imagine what possessed his friend to dress that way…

"Bow ties," he muttered. "Bow ties and sweater vests…"

"Is there a problem with that?" Aziraphale called from the coat closet, suddenly self-conscious. "I could change…though I'm not sure what else I would wear." He stood in the doorway with his overcoat in his hands, but Crowley was shaking his head.

"No, it's fine. You look fine." A slight smile crept onto Aziraphale's lips; this was the demon's best attempt at a sincere compliment, and he appreciated it. "Ahem. Let's go." The pair went downstairs, where Crowley's beloved Bentley was parked in front of the bookstore. As expected of an English winter, it was quite cool out, so they were glad to find the car warm inside.

"So, where are we going?" the demon asked, leaning back in his seat. Aziraphale paused briefly; he'd been so busy thinking of other things that he'd hardly considered.

"Hm." He drew up his mental map of the surrounding area. "There's a charming little bistro several blocks in that direction." He pointed, glancing upward. "If that's all right with you." Crowley shrugged and started the car.

"You're buying, so it's fine." Aziraphale knew well enough to brace himself as they started off; his friend's driving was a bit nerve-wracking… Difficult though it was, he struggled to remain calm and give direction.

"Just turn at the next—Crowley, that was a pedestrian! If you'd been just a moment earlier, you—Oh! _Please_ turn on your headlights. No, not for your benefit, but theirs. …you've missed the street now."

"That's all right; I can go back around," Crowley answered calmly, thoroughly entertained by the angel's reactions.

"No, no, just stop here," Aziraphale insisted hastily. "It isn't much farther; we can walk." With a slight snicker, the demon pulled into a neatly-placed spot alongside the road. He then watched in amusement as his friend exited the car, a bit shaken.

"So, you go to this 'charming little' place often?" he asked as they walked.

"Often enough to have my own preferred table," the angel confessed. He led the way to a small, softly-lit place even smaller than his flat. It was the sort of place Crowley wouldn't have given a second glance, but as they stepped inside, the working hostess greeted Aziraphale by name. She then led them confidently to a table situated snugly in a corner, away from the door. It wasn't until after they'd seated themselves that she seemed to notice Crowley. When asked about him, Aziraphale's ears flushed and he introduced him as "a friend." The demon chose not to comment. Once they were alone, Crowley turned in his chair to properly inspect the place.

"Quaint," he said at length, then chuckled and added, "Romantic."

"Romantic!" Aziraphale laughed rather shrilly. "Ha, I don't know what you mean, dear boy…haha…" When he saw the knowing look Crowley was giving him, he stopped laughing and looked away, embarrassed. After a few moments, he tried to change the subject. "Ahem. It must be difficult to see in here with those dark lenses." Crowley shrugged.

"You get used to it. I've worn them so long that when I take them off, everything feels too bright. The lighting in here is perfect, though; I'd take them off if it weren't for…" He glanced in the direction of the hostess, who was also functioning as their waitress. Looking back at Aziraphale, he cocked his head to one side and asked, "They don't make you uncomfortable, do they?"

"The humans? No, I've gotten quite used to them," the angel responded offhandedly. "I found them interesting for a time, but now they've just become predictable—"

"I was talking about my eyes, angel." Oh. Aziraphale blanched slightly at his mistake.

"Of course not. Why should they? I already know what you are," he said, showing the demon his tongue to emphasize his point. "Actually, I prefer being able to look in your eyes when we talk." This was almost an afterthought, but it was said with a touch of regret. The demon considered for a moment before removing his shades and placing them in his breast pocket. "What are you doing?"

"It's dark," he shrugged. "I think it'll be fine. Besides, it's easier to see you now." Aziraphale tried to suppress his smile.

"Ahem, we should…probably decide what we're having," he mumbled, hiding behind his menu. He already knew what he would have, but the look Crowley had fixed him with was just too much… Their waitress (the only other person in the room) returned soon enough to take their order, and then the angel had nothing to distract him. "Oh. I meant to tell you last week: there are goslings at the park now. You should see them, they're…" He glanced up at his friend, then quickly had to look away. "…cute." It wasn't his eyes that were unnerving; it was the way he was so singularly focused on Aziraphale. He wouldn't have said he was "uncomfortable." More…bashful.

"Goslings. Hm. Makes you miss flying, doesn't it?" The demon thankfully lowered his piercing gaze to the glass of water in front of him, which he was restlessly stirring with a straw.

"Sometimes. I'm always afraid my wings will atrophy from disuse," the angel answered, voicing a genuine fear. But what could he do? It wasn't as though he could just fly about whenever he felt the urge.

"So use them," Crowley suggested. "You make miracles happen all the time, and no one notices that they're miracles, right? Do it discreetly and you don't have to worry."

"I suppose I'm just not as adventurous as you are," the angel replied.

"I'll go with you; how's that?" Aziraphale looked up to find his friend gazing back with a smirk. "Sure, it sounds like fun; it's been a while since I've had the opportunity to use mine, too."

"And if we were to be caught…?" the angel prompted.

"They're humans," Crowley replied with a nonchalant shrug. "What's the worst they can do to us?'

"I think you're forgetting your history; they're capable of quite a lot." They were both quite for a moment.

"Do you know it's coming up on a thousand years?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow in askance. "Since we came to our little Arrangement."

"Really?" The angel thought back, and sure enough, it was less than a decade until they hit the mark of a full millennium of not-exactly-working-together. "So it is." A thousand years… He had to wonder at what point during all that time they had become comfortable enough with one another to consider themselves friends. And further still, at what point had that friendship become…

"I say we celebrate," Crowley said.

"Oh, preventing the Apocalypse wasn't enough?"

"I mean just the two of us." The angel swallowed hard and was about to answer when their waitress arrived with their dinner. Crowley told her, "thanks, sweetheart," but his eyes were still locked on Aziraphale. The angel told himself that was just so she wouldn't see his serpentine eyes…but some part of him argued to the contrary. They ate in relative silence, with each alternately stealing glances at the other. Aziraphale wondered how much of Crowley's teasing he could take; Crowley wondered whether he was teasing too much. As flippant as he may have seemed, the demon was trying to keep himself from coming on too strong. After they'd eaten, Aziraphale paid and left a tip far more than the girl had earned. ("She's so young; I'm sure she could use the money!")

By the time they were leaving, it had started to snow. They paused for a moment under the awning just outside, and Aziraphale rubbed his hands together in the cold, mumbling something about forgetting his gloves. It was at this point that Crowley decided it was time to make a move. He cleared his throat and boldly took Aziraphale's hand, starting off toward the car. As they walked, he didn't dare look up at the angel, too embarrassed to speak. Aziraphale gazed at his hand as he was led, and he had to smile. It was quite possible that, while his desire was stronger, the demon was just as nervous about all this as he was. And that was nice to know. When they reached the Bentley, they were forced to release one another to get in.

"So, now what?" Crowley asked as he sped back toward the angel's home.

"What do you mean?" His friend was covering his eyes with his hands, praying for the humans around them.

"I mean—" The car lurched to a stop. "Are we saying 'good night' here or what?" The demon turned to give his friend an expectant look, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. It was clear that he didn't want to leave yet, but he wouldn't be so audacious as to invite himself inside.

"Well…" It _was_ cold out. And after the nice evening they'd had thus far, it seemed a bit ungracious to leave so abruptly. "If you like…" He would just have to be careful. Mind himself. That shouldn't be too difficult…hopefully. "You could come in for a warm drink." A grin spread across the serpent's face.

"I'd love to." Once upstairs, Aziraphale took off his coat and set about making coffee, busying himself in the kitchen while Crowley made himself comfortable on the couch. "I guess you don't own a TV?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Suppose you do." The angel then heard music from his sitting room, and a glance in that direction showed that Crowley _had_ created a television, and now there was a film beginning to play on it.

"You aren't content with my company alone?" he teased. Crowley turned over his shoulder to give Aziraphale a look that replaced his smile with an awkward blush. He stood exactly where he was and waited for their coffee to brew, willing it to finish faster—and so it did, within moments. He then brought back their cups already made, Crowley's with no cream and two sugars; he'd learned this from their previous dates—er, outings. For a few moments, the two sat silently on the couch, watching the movie Crowley had put on. It was a rather dated musical; the demon certainly knew Aziraphale's tastes. That thought made the angel shiver slightly, and he took a sip of his coffee. _What_ was he doing? His stomach was filled with caterpillars…or was it fireflies? In any case, he was nervous beyond belief and couldn't seem to decide what he wanted. After considering for a moment, he admitted to himself that what he _wanted_ wasn't really in question…and he shifted on the couch, moving a bit closer to the demon.

Meanwhile, Crowley was tapping his smartly-shod food in impatience. He had zero experience with this stuff; what should he do now? Last time he'd tried being assertive, he'd ended up overwhelming the angel and getting sent away. Naturally, he wanted to avoid a repeat performance, but it was becoming painfully clear that Aziraphale was too shy to make a move on his own. So was he just going to suffer through his entire awful musical without _any_ progress to show for it? As he was setting his mug down on the end table, he noticed the angel scoot closer, and an idea sparked in his mind.

"Isn't that hot?" The angel flinched slightly, as though he was expecting an attack, and looked up quizzically. Crowley nodded at his hands. "The cup? You'll burn yourself if you aren't careful. You could put it over here." He leaned back in his seat, hoping his friend would step into his trap. Of course, Aziraphale could _see_ that it was a trap; he wasn't a fool. But…maybe it would be all right to let himself be caught. After a brief pause (to steal his nerve, perhaps), he moved closer still and leaned over his friend to set his cup aside. The moment he released it, the demon wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him much closer.

"Hm. Very subtle, my dear," Aziraphale mumbled, though his voice belied a smile. He slipped his shoes off and curled his legs up onto the couch as well, content to rest in his friend's arms. At the same time, Crowley was beaming at the success of his little plan; even the smallest step forward meant he was doing something right. Now that he'd gotten the first part down (accomplishing physical contact, that is), he could work on moving forward. After allowing some time for the angel to get comfortable, he discreetly slipped deft fingers underneath that dreadful sweater vest, sliding it slowly upward. It didn't take his friend long to notice. "Ahem. What are you doing?"

"Helping you get comfortable," he demon answered smoothly. "You must be warm." His hand slid further upward, taking the garment with it, and a frazzled Aziraphale wriggled out of it, smoothing his mussed hair.

"By that logic, you'd be uncomfortable, too," he grumbled as he undid his tie.

"Cold-blooded," Crowley attested simply. "But if you insist." He grinned and slipped out of his suit jacket, draping it across the back of the couch. The angel kept his mouth shut this time for fear that Crowley would strip further. Strange how the loss of a single layer could make him feel cooler and warmer at the same time. The sensation of the demon's fingers roaming across his back was an unusual one, but undeniably pleasant. With only slight distraction, he managed to relax enough to focus his attention back on their movie. Half an hour passed in comfortable stillness, and Aziraphale soon found…he wasn't nervous anymore. The room was warm, the company was pleasant, and whatever lingering unease he'd felt was quickly fading. Crowley's hand rested warmly on his hip, and he wondered vaguely in the demon really _was_ cold-blooded. The warmth of his body pressed against Aziraphale's side suggested otherwise. The angel's eyes wandered from the digitally-remastered images on the screen and drifted discreetly toward Crowley. As much as he professed to dislike the musicals the angel was so fond of, his fingers were tapping along with the music. He wore a dress shirt the color of red wine, and his tie was a sort of black and gray— Aziraphale snickered when he realized that pattern was snakeskin.

"Can I help you?" The demon had been pretending not to notice his friend inspecting him, but the laughing was too much.

"What? Oh! I'm sorry…" the angel answered, admonishing himself for being caught. "I was just…admiring your choice of neckwear." He was obviously teasing, and Crowley immediately quipped back,

"This coming from the same person who recently said the words: 'tartan is stylish.' I'm not sure I can take fashion criticism from you." He reached up and flipped the end of Aziraphale's tie, which was some sort of green-blue-yellow-red monstrosity.

"_Well!_ That's gratitude for you; I try to pay you a compliment, and you attack my fashion sense," the host said in mock-indignation. Crowley laughed and leaned back in his seat.

"Yeesh, who knew angels were so touchy?"

"It isn't because I'm an angel, dear boy. No one likes to be teased." Something in his tone had changed; Crowley wasn't sure he was playing anymore.

"Yeah, tell me about it," he replied, looking over his friend thoughtfully. When Aziraphale realized he was being watched so, he fidgeted with his own hands, trying to gather his courage.

"Well, then…I'm sorry." He moved a bit closer. "Ahem. For teasing you." Much to the surprise of both parties, the angel was the one to instigate a kiss this time. He'd been nervously anticipating it all night, and now that it was happening, he was pleased with the result. With his eyes shut in concentration, he let his tongue meet the demon's, and a whimper of utter surprise slipped from his lips. Whatever he'd expected, this wasn't it, and what a pleasant surprise it was. His hands moved of their own accord, latching onto the front of Crowley's shirt with no apparent intention of letting go, and his head tilted slightly as he gained a better understanding of the mechanics at work. It seemed there was much to be learned from this experience, and Aziraphale was _always_ eager to learn.

After what seemed like a rather long time (which is saying something for immortals), the kiss ended, and the angel found himself practically in Crowley's lap.

"Oh. That was…a bit forward, wasn't it?" he mumbled, flushed and trembling a bit. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." The demon was in a mild state of shock. So much for "too shy to make a move"! He was actually impressed. His fingers were lost in Aziraphale's hair, fingering pale blond curls and keeping him close. But it was too still now; he had to gather his wits quickly.

"Mh. Crowley," Aziraphale breathed as the serpent's lips met his neck. That kiss had been quite a big step for him, and while he was very comfortable in his friend's arms, he wasn't sure he was prepared to move on just yet. Rather than attempt to fight verbally, he just wrapped his arms around the demon's neck and rested against his shoulder. Yes, he was starting to get the hang of this. Crowley couldn't even bring himself to be disappointed; the angel was just so…for lack of a better word, nice. This was the most genuine affection he'd ever received (angels couldn't give any other kind), and he had no choice but to enjoy it. For some time, they were both content to sit that way, leaning on one another, breathing in time. Aziraphale's fingertips trailed along the top of his friend's collar, brushing his neck and causing him to shiver. It was nice to see him vulnerable that way; it certainly made the situation less intimidating.

When their film ended, neither could have said what it was about. Aziraphale remembered from his readings that this should mark the end of their date, and he regretfully moved to sit back on the couch next to his friend.

"It's…getting late," he pointed out softly.

"Yeah, I guess." The demon frowned; the sudden decline in Aziraphale's mood led him to believe he'd done something wrong. But _he_ hadn't really done anything… He started to get up, but the angel took his hand to stop him.

"Er. Before you go, I wanted to discuss something with you." He had his legs curled up on the couch and was inspecting his expertly-manicured fingernails with too much interest. His other hand held onto Crowley's, nervously lacing their fingers together. The demon smiled slightly, amused.

"I'm listening."

"Well. As I'm sure you realize, I've been thinking about…" Aziraphale's gaze flickered briefly to their entwined hands. "…this." He was doing his very best to be objective and businesslike about this; that, combined with his obvious nervousness, only tickled Crowley further. "And I'm not sure we can keep this up and still call ourselves 'friends.' I'm afraid I don't approve of the term…what is it? 'Friends with benefits.' The way I see it, either we're friends and nothing changes…or…"

"Spit it out, angel." The demon knew what he was getting at, of course, but he wanted to _hear_ it. Aziraphale took a deep breath and sighed. He was too old for this nonsense. He knew what he wanted to say; he simply had to stay calm and say it. He folded his hands together and spoke.

"Are we friends…" he said, turning an even gaze on Crowley. "Or are we lovers?" The demon's smile slipped, and it was his turn to look away. That L-word. That was dangerous. Was the angel expecting…_that_ from him? He didn't even know if he had the capacity to provide it. Sure, he _liked_ Aziraphale… "Lovers"… He liked the way it sounded. There was something attractively verboten about the whole thing. But then, he still couldn't be sure how the angel felt about it. He couldn't just come out and say it; no, that would be too easy. He was going to make Crowley _ask_.

"Care to share your opinion on the matter?" He sat forward on the couch, trying to catch the angel's eye. Aziraphale seemed surprised that he was being questioned and looked up for only a moment.

"I suppose it would be nice to have company…_your_ company, that is…more often. For instance, I've enjoyed it tonight." He was beginning to realize that this affair had nothing to do with the Heavenly Powers-That-Were or his duties to Them. His nature and Crowley's were really secondary facts. Important, yes, but not the _most_ important. "I don't know the extent of what you want from me. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure I know what _I_ want. But friendship…doesn't seem to be quite enough anymore. That is to say—"

"You're overthinking." Crowley shook his head and reached over to wrap his arms around the angel's stomach, pulling Aziraphale back against him. "Look, if you want it, just say so." Aziraphale closed his eyes and rested his hands on top of Crowley's.

"…I do."

"See? Now was that so difficult?" the snake chuckled in his ear. He thought about it for a moment, and he liked the way it felt. "So we're _lovers_, then. Don't you feel sinful."

"You've no idea," the angel answered with a laugh. But he didn't feel guilty. No regret, no lightning striking him down, no Heavenly forces smiting them. So maybe it was all right. Leaning back against Crowley's shoulder, he felt _much_ better now that they had resolved the matter. Just as he was getting comfortable, however, the clock struck the hour—midnight already? "Oh my. It really is getting late."

"What does that matter? You still don't sleep, do you?" The angel shook his head. "Okay. So what difference does it make if it's late? Why does that mean I have to go?"

"It's customary," Aziraphale stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Crowley put a hand up to his temples; for a moment, he'd forgotten just who he was dealing with here. As much as he wanted to argue, he felt he'd achieved quite a lot already, so he wouldn't press his luck. He gathered his things to leave, and Aziraphale stopped him at the door for another kiss. It might have just been Crowley's imagination, but it sounded like there was something different about his "my dear" when they said good night. The angel watched his company leave until he realized what he was doing, then hastily retreated back into his flat. What a night. A busy one, and emotionally exhausting. He glanced at their barely-touched coffee cups and sighed as he took them back to the kitchen. He really should stop wasting food. Maybe next time he could just _say_ what he was thinking, rather than using drinks or lunch as an excuse. After all, if one could be honest with anyone, it should be his lover…


	3. Make Yourself Comfortable

**A/N: Ugh. I've been coping with it up until now, but I have to tell you guys: I **_**hate**_** writing in third-person. Hate. Almost all my writing is in first, so this is really weird for me. I'm trying to do it in the spirit of the original work (whether that's coming through or not). The only problem is that this is a story about two men (man-shaped creatures), so I can't use "he" for everything, so I end up having to use other nouns: i.e., "the angel," "the demon," or "Crowley" and "Aziraphale." A lot. More than I would like. *sigh* Author problems…**

**Chapter 3: Make Yourself Comfortable  
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_Aaaaare you gonna take me home tonight?_

_ Aaaww, down beside that red firelight?_

_ Aaaaare you gonna let it all hang out—_

"Ugh. No, thank you." Aziraphale reached up to switch the station of the radio which sat on the counter next to him. Queen wasn't his musical cup of tea to begin with, and after hearing it so often in Crowley's car, his patience with the band was almost non-existent. As soft jazz floated out from the device's speakers (not perfect, but an improvement), the angel shivered and pulled his sweater tighter, turning his attention back to the book in his hands. He could see his own breath in front of him; the temperature in his bookstore was almost as abysmally cold as it was outside. This was just one of the many methods he implemented in order to keep the store and the books therein to himself. He wasn't exactly comfortable, but he had dressed in layers that morning, so he could bear it.

When he heard the door open, he glanced up with little concern to find a bespectacled young woman with a scarf wrapped around her face. Their eyes met, and he smiled tightly. As she began to peruse the shelves and racks surrounding, his eyes narrowed. He never greeted her or asked what she might be looking for; he certainly didn't want to _encourage_ her to buy something. She didn't seem too intent on her search, only skimming over the titles which were easily visible so she didn't have to remove her hands from her pockets. Soon enough, the cold weather got to her, and she hurried out of the store with a shiver, leaving the angel smirking smugly. It certainly wasn't that he wanted to keep the content of his books from the humans who might benefit from it. However, the books themselves were precious, and as long as they were with him, they would be properly respected.

Hours passed in relative silence, and he was nearly half-way through his book when the door opened once more. He looked up in irritation to find a much more welcome visitor.

"Geez, angel, it's a meat-locker in here," Crowley grumped as he stepped inside. "They're books, not steaks…"

"Sorry," the angel answered, laying his book on the counter. "Where have you been?" He easily masked over his delight at seeing the demon, though it had been more than two weeks since they'd last seen each other.

"Here and there," his friend (ahem, his lover, that is) answered. He looked uncomfortable, bundled up in his coat. "Spent some time in Ireland, talked to people about the stability treaty; they are _not_ happy. You know. Working my wiles." When he reached Aziraphale's side, he wrapped his arms tightly around the angel and sighed against his neck. Aziraphale shivered and anxiously leaned his head against Crowley's.

"You're freezing!" he exclaimed as his cheek brushed a bit of exposed skin. The demon looked up at him blankly.

"It's cold out."

"Even so, you shouldn't be so—" Oh. "You really are cold-blooded!"

"Sure," Crowley muttered as he nuzzled his face into the warmth of the angel's neck. A smile crossed his lips; this was much better than staying in his own bed with the heater turned up. "I told you."

"Will you be all right?" Aziraphale bit his lip, trying not to protest the frigid touch against his skin. Rather than answering his question, Crowley straightened up and kissed him _fiercely_, almost knocking him out of his chair. After recovering from the shock and letting himself enjoy it for a few moments, the angel forced himself to break away. "Ahem…s-someone could see us…"

"I have to warm up somehow," Crowley breathed against his throat. "Otherwise I'll freeze to death. You don't want that on your conscience."

"You won't _actually_ die…"

"No, but it'd be pretty inconvenient. For both of us." When he realized that his argument wasn't getting much of a response, he changed tactics. "What are you reading?"

"The Dream of the Apprentice," the angel answered automatically. "It's a…fantasy novel."

"So lets' go in the back and get comfortable, and you can read to me." Something about this suggestion struck a chord with Aziraphale. Crowley had never before expressed an interest in having anything to do with his beloved books. Reading aloud…he'd done so before, but never with an audience. The way he saw it, his books were sacred, and sharing them felt very…intimate.

"Would you actually pay attention?" the angel asked dubiously.

"Cross my heart. As long as you're doing the same," Crowley snickered. It took a moment more for Aziraphale to decide.

"All right, then." Before leaving the room, he locked the shop door and turned his OPEN sign to CLOSED. Satisfied that his collection was safe for another day, he retrieve his book and Crowley, and they adjourned to the back room. Against the wall, there sat an aged sofa which had been used many a time as a place for a certain demon and angel to convene and get _really_ sodding drunk. It was upholstered in fading maroon velveteen, and the cushions had been sinking in for years, making it rather difficult to get out of. Well-loved, one might call it. Aziraphale did. After he'd made himself comfortable, Crowley removed his coat and stretched his long body across the length of the sofa, lying with his head resting on the angel's leg.

"Ahem…" Aziraphale flushed slightly at his informality and cleared his throat. "I suppose I should start from the beginning."

"I would appreciate that," the demon agreed, yellow eyes peeking over the top of his shades. Aziraphale hadn't considered that he would have to stop his own progress…but he supposed it was a necessary evil. As he began to read, his voice was crisp and clear, enunciating each word and reading as though he was simply telling a story. He never faltered, never stuttered, and he'd gone through four chapters before he was interrupted.

"Bollocks," Crowley muttered, drawing the angel's attention.

"What is…?"

"The whole idea of royals abdicating the throne so someone else can have it," he explained. "No one would actually _do_ that."

"You would be surprised. Sometimes, humans do…inconceivable things." Aziraphale glanced down at the demon. "May I continue?"

"Please." It had bothered him slightly to be interrupted, but as the angel went on reading and Crowley continued to comment here and there, they actually began to form discussions on the book itself. Such a thing was quite unusual for Aziraphale; he had never had anyone with whom he might compose thought on a piece of literature. Much to his surprise, Crowley raised points that he himself hadn't considered. Soon, he found himself pausing after each chapter to hear what his lover had to say and to offer his own views, which almost invariably differed from Crowley's. The book was held in one hand, and his other found its way to the demon's hair, slowly combing through the dark locks.

The two grew so immersed in their book and conversation, closed off from the rest of the world, that they hardly noticed the passage of time at all. They stayed just where they were until they'd finished the book, and Aziraphale set it aside. At that point, Crowley sat up and stretched, popping his neck and wondering aloud what time it was. Aziraphale glanced at his watch and was surprised to find how much time had gone by; it was past 6 in the morning!

"Uh-oh," Crowley chuckled when he was told. "We're breaking tradition, then. Should I go?"

"Very funny," the angel answered flatly. "You're welcome to stay…if you prefer."

"Twist my arm, why don't you. But what'll we do now?" A wicked grin curved the demon's mouth; he had a few ideas about how they might stay occupied. Aziraphale didn't answer, but he moved closer on the couch. A step in the right direction. Just as Crowley was about to make a move, the angel curled up on the sofa and leaned his head against the demon's shoulder.

"Thank you for staying like this. It was nice," he said quietly, trying to hide his blushing. "I mean…letting me read to you. I enjoyed it." Crowley wasn't sure how to respond; he had forgotten what a bibliophile the angel was. Of course something like this would be a big deal to him.

"It's no problem," he answered after a moment. "You know I wouldn't have done it if I didn't like it, too." Aziraphale laughed at his bluntness.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have."

"Would you still have been reading if I hadn't stayed?" the demon asked, leaning back in his seat, crossing his ankles.

"Oh, certainly. That's how I spend most of my nights. There's always something new to read, my dear."

"So, you _never_ sleep, do you?"

"Not often. I _have_, of course, but…fewer than ten times in all my years. Each time I try, I always feel there's something more productive I could be doing with my time."

"Like doing your nails," Crowley offered helpfully, and Aziraphale gave him a sharp look.

"For your information, _I_ don't 'do' them. And I daresay _you_ could use a manicure yourself." He cast a disdainful gaze down at Crowley's rather short nails, but the demon was still laughing.

"Sheath the daggers, angel; I'm only joking. Tell me, what do you do when you finish a book?" Aziraphale's look softened, and he cocked his head slightly.

"I start another."

"Ugh." Crowley rolled his eyes; for all his desire to stay on Earth, it seemed the angel didn't do much with his life.

"You should really read more, you know. You might find you like it more than you expect."

"Well, you can help me to that end. Fair enough?" Aziraphale smiled bashfully.

"If that's what I have to do, so be it." He glanced at his watch once again, then got to his feet. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Crowley asked, standing nevertheless.

"Upstairs. You'll want this." The angel handed him his coat and then led the way, refusing to explain any further. When they reached his flat, he paused for only a moment to retrieve a brightly-colored afghan blanket from his couch before continuing up the stairs.

"Are we…going to the roof?" Crowley asked as they climbed.

"Yes. The sun will be rising soon." The angel seemed very excited for some reason. As they stepped out onto the roof, the cold air bit at their skin, and Crowley frowned. Was a sunrise worth his freezing to death? Then the angel reached up and draped his blanket over the serpent's shoulders. "Is that better?" The idyllic look on his face was one that Crowley couldn't bring himself to argue with, so he nodded, despondent; so much for the idea of sharing body heat. Now that he was satisfied his lover was safe, Aziraphale went to the wall at the edge of the roof and gazed outward. The sky was already a light blue, and the horizon was a long line of orange, broken here and there by buildings taller than Aziraphale's. After a moment, Crowley came to stand next to him, and he cleared his throat, moving a bit closer.

"I suppose you spend your morning in bed at this hour," he mused quietly.

"Mm-hm."

"Hm. I try to take moments like this now and then to appreciate what He created," the angel continued, hoping he wasn't being too preachy. "How it all falls together so nicely…" The sun finally began to break over the horizon, and Aziraphale found his hand being held by Crowley's.

"Ineffable," the demon said quietly, and his lover smiled slightly once more. This was nicer than he'd anticipated. Here he was, observing one of the things he loved so much about Earth…and even sharing it with someone. Someone who, conveniently enough, already knew him and his quirks, his preferences. Someone whose chilled fingers felt very natural curled around his. In Aziraphale's mind, moments like this were terribly romantic, and they mustn't be overlooked.

And then Crowley collapsed. The angel glanced down at him and muttered, "Oh, dear."

"Thanks…for your concern," the demon grumbled, writhing on the ground as Aziraphale knelt next to him.

"What's the matter?"

"Too cold," he answered with some difficulty, and the angel felt a pang of guilt.

"That's my fault…isn't it? I'm sorry, my dear. Come inside, and I'll—"

"Problem," the demon muttered. "Can't move. C'mere." With a nod of his head, he beckoned Aziraphale closer. And what choice did he have? If Crowley was incapacitated and it was his fault, that made it his responsibility to see him made well. So the angel crawled under the blanket next to his lover, lying close to him in an effort to warm him up.

"Better…?" he asked as his head rested on Crowley's shoulder. The serpent grinned roguishly.

"Much." The next thing Aziraphale knew, he was on his back, and his lover was kneeling over him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You said…" The angel quickly came a conclusion: "You tricked me." Crowley shrugged.

"I'm a demon." Their lips met again, fingers entwined, and Aziraphale felt warmer already. A sound met his ears, something he'd never heard before. Upon realizing that that deep and ardent sound had come from Crowley's mouth, he blushed a bit darker and felt a shiver of—what could he call what he was feeling? Desire… Somehow, his arms were around the demon's neck, holding him closer, but as Crowley's chest pressed against his, their hips brushed, and Aziraphale was forced to free his mouth.

"Crowley," he gasped, his tone a mix between longing and apprehension—and Crowley only heard half of it.

"Angel," he purred in reply. The word was less a statement of fact and more a…term of endearment that made Aziraphale's chest feel warm. The demon's lips found his pulse and kissed it hotly, only making him fidget more, struggling to decide what he wanted.

"M-my dear, please…just a moment…" Aziraphale implored, pushing at Crowley's shoulders. Though he was horribly reluctant, the demon pulled back for a moment. His shades had slipped down his nose, and now he pushed them up into his hair, effectively sweeping his bangs away from his forehead and allowing his sharp gaze to meet with the angel's.

"All right?" he asked softly, and the blond gave a very small nod. Both were breathing heavily, and their breath rose in small clouds in the chilly morning air.

"We should probably go inside," Aziraphale said at length, reaching up to touch his lover's face and finding it freezing, as expected. Because of his lowered body temperature, Crowley perceived the angel's fingers as being very warm, and he moved into the touch.

"Sure, okay," he muttered, though he stayed where he was for a moment.

"…ahem." It was only after Aziraphale cleared his throat that the demon came to his senses and stood up, offering his hand to help his lover to his feet. As they returned to the angel's flat, Crowley took off his coat once more and shivered strongly, but Aziraphale made a sound of skepticism. "Fool me once, shame on you…"

"Suppose I don't want to fool you," Crowley suggested as he made himself _quite_ comfortable on the couch, resting in the corner and draping his arms across the sides. "You don't want to be close to me, is that it?"

"Of course not!" His response was a little too quick. He looked away from Crowley's eyes and sighed. They were both adults; couldn't they be mature about this? "It's nothing to do with you. I'm just…not sure."

"About what?" the demon asked patiently.

"This. That is…" Brown eyes drifted down toward Crowley's lips, and he felt his face grow hot. He continued quietly, "It isn't _being_ with you that makes me nervous."

"Just when I try to touch you." In order to demonstrate, Crowley reached up and took hold of his angel's hand, pulling the flustered Aziraphale down into his lap.

"…something like that…" The angel's fingers picked at the edges of the scarf around his neck. Then he realized that maybe he wasn't just warm from Crowley's attention. With an exasperated sigh, he removed his scarf and lay it next to them on the couch. It was soon followed by his sweater and the vest underneath, leaving him in only one more layer and _much_ more comfortable.

And then Crowley's fingers touched the topmost button on his shirt. With a definite sense of purpose about him, the demon was very slowly undoing each button…and Aziraphale didn't try to stop him. Yellow eyes searched, unblinking, across every centimeter of pale skin that was revealed, and the angel found himself embarrassed simply from being inspected so. Those fingers brushed his skin, and he jolted slightly; Crowley really was still cold…!

"'S this okay…?" Aziraphale was surprised to hear that; he was asking permission? The act alone made him feel better.

"It's fine," he answered softly. As the demon's lips met his chest, something _very_ unusual happened. Aziraphale felt…young. As mentioned before, there was little he didn't possess some knowledge about, but this was one area in which he was completely inexperienced. Not at all like the seasoned angel he most certainly was, he found himself flushed and flustered, hardly sure of what to do with himself. Such was his state of innocence, of ignorance and, admittedly, of intrigue, that he almost felt _mortal_. All this he felt within a matter of seconds before letting out a shuddering sigh and sliding his fingers through Crowley's hair to urge him closer. Cool hands slid beneath his shirt, up his back, tracing the exact spots where his wings would've been, and an involuntary moan slipped from his lips. His heart beat madly in his chest, and heat bloomed in his chest, but he found himself unable to move or protest. Regardless of whether he should or not, he very much enjoyed the attention, and glancing downward to see Crowley's tongue—oh, it was almost too much…!

"…angel?" Aziraphale blinked and looked up to find his lover watching him intently, his lips curved in a slight smile. "No harm done, eh?"

"No, no ! It was…ahem…nice." He leaned in and kissed Crowley's lips softly before hastily re-buttoning his shirt. The demon chuckled and leaned back on the couch, satisfied that progress was being made, and that the angel wasn't traumatized by it. He took a deep breath and yawned. "Hm. I'm depriving you of sleep, aren't I?"

"'S fine," Crowley answered with a shrug, but it was clear that if he were allowed to get comfortable, he wouldn't be conscious for much longer.

"Would you…like to stay here, then?" The serpent opened one eye and smirked at Aziraphale, who hastily added, "I-I'd just hate to think of you driving in this state; you're reckless enough as it is, and if something were to happen to you…" He forced himself to stop there.

"If it means that much to you," Crowley answered with a shrug. "I don't mind staying." He slipped his shoes off and lay his sunglasses on the end table, drowsily running his fingers through his hair. "Guess I'm sleeping in here, then?"

"Yes, but I'll keep you company if you prefer." Aziraphale was up and turning out lights now, leaving only one lamp on. He went to his bedroom for a moment and returned, book in hand, to find Crowley shrugging out of his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt to get comfortable. Once the angel had taken up his spot at one end of the couch, his lover easily resumed lying in his lap. It might not have been as luxurious as his bed, but Crowley found himself immensely comfortable; he was asleep within minutes.


End file.
